


Sirens in a Minefield

by tuesdaymarch



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Disability, Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymarch/pseuds/tuesdaymarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years ago, there was an event called the Enablement. It left the majority of the population unscathed, but those touched by its effects became Disables, alienated from the Ables, the 'normal people' throughout their everyday lives. Kieren Walker is one of these unlucky people - at least, he thinks he's unlucky. His new friends think otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters in this fanfiction unless they don't appear in the TV series 'In the Flesh', in which case I made them up and I'll be a bit miffed if you steal them. Ownership is all yours, BBC 3. 
> 
> This is predominantly a Siren (Simon x Kieren) fanfiction, but it is also an AU in which there was not a Rising, but an Enablement, leaving many people called Disables because of the mental and physical difficulties they are left with after the events. As someone with autism and ongoing mental health issues, I can assure you none of this is meant to offend anyone, and I'm sincerely sorry if it does. 
> 
> Now, please enjoy the onslaught of Siren's blooming relationship, Kieren being a self-deprecating idiot, weird spiritual views of the Enablement and other fantastical AU high school goings-on. (NOTE: everyone's ages are complete bullshit in this, ok.) 
> 
> WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts, mentions of self harm, mild (non-graphic) sex and sex references, violent imagery and of course gayness.

# Sirens in a Minefield

## Chapter 1

_Four years ago, the entire world population was split into two categories: the Ables and Disables. No scientists have been able to discover why this occurred, but the effects have not worn off since. Whether this is a good thing or not is a cause of much controversy in society, especially, it seemed, in rural England._

_It was not a good day in the small village of Roarton when people of all ages began having attacks. They were attacks of all sorts - anxiety, panicking, fits, seizures, catatonia, paranoia, screaming... Everything. No one understood what was happening, and there was no one to contact about the situation. It was the first place in the world, as far as they knew, to be affected by the Enablement. Not many people were happy about this._

_The more severe cases of these attacks were kept locked up: in bedrooms, in bathrooms, in the hospital, in cages, in boxes, anything to keep them from harming themselves or anyone else. The attacks lasted for several hours; those unaffected, which was the majority of the village, were in a state of shock so great that they couldn't bring themselves to be relieved when it stopped._

_But it hadn't really stopped, of course. Anyone who had suffered any sort of attack remained changed for ever more after that day. Raised intelligence, vivid night terrors, lack of social skills, odd physical appearance and bizarre hallucinations all came with being a Disable._

_Now, just over four years after, the people of Roarton were still hung up about the Enablement. The town's population seemed to be polarised, divided into two sub-categories once again: those who remained bitter and discriminatory to those who had become dramatically different that day, and those who treated the condition like a religious blessing._

_Of course, there will always be those who are unsusceptible to these types of dividing factors. For example, there was Kieren Walker._

As it did at this exact time every weekday morning, Kieren's alarm went off. 

Gasping and shooting up out of bed like a shaky spring, the boy violently slapped the power button on his bedside radio. It had been another night of bad dreams for Kieren, although they had gotten less traumatic since he'd been put on the new medication. He was grateful for it. 

His right eye twitching in an irritating way, he shuffled towards the bathroom. The towel he had hung in front of the mirror the night before was still there; he was glad not to be greeted with his reflection straight after waking up. 

'How long you gonna be?' With delayed movements, Kieren turned round to see his younger sister standing upright in the doorway. Her face was a mask, but he knew what she was thinking: _Stupid Special, get the hell out._

'Oh, I-I can get out now if you want, I'll use it la-later--' Kieren began, stuttering in his early morning grogginess. He hated how quickly the meds could wear off overnight. Jemima interrupted him, quickly, shaking her head in exasperation. 

'No, no, you special kid,' she refused with a sigh. 'I'll be back in a couple minutes, just hurry up.' Jem wasn't too bad, really, not compared to some of the others at their school. Definitely not compared to how she used to be, just after the Enablement. She'd refused to talk to her older brother for over a month, and the first words out of her mouth were... 

_Never mind about that,_ Kieren thought to himself, shaking his head aggressively. _Don't remind yourself, you'll be normal today, just like every other day._ Opening the medicine cabinet, he rattled through the assortment of bottles and boxes and blister packs until he found the right one. It was a small, dark brown vial filled with a thick clear liquid, labelled with something Kieren couldn't even have pronounced before his speech got all fucked up. He fished out one of his measuring syringes and took out the prescribed five milliliters, shooting it down the back of his throat before his body could refuse the disgusting stuff. He grimaced and put the lid back on. 

As he opened his eyes fully, Kieren saw flashes and figures out of the corner of his eye, in the far left of his peripheral vision. He tried not to look, not to see, not to think about it all – but it looked like arms, spindly and bending, reaching out from the wall to touch him… 

‘Oi, you done yet?’ Jem called from outside, rapping her knuckled on the locked door. Kieren’s vision cleared in an instant, but he still felt unsettled as he walked to the door and unlocked it. Those four steps from the sink to the door felt like a mile to him. 

‘All yours,’ Kieren mumbled as he opened the door to see his sister glaring at him. She brushed past him as if he didn't matter, as if he wasn't there at all. It wouldn’t have hurt if she hadn't been so _nice_ before, so caring and sweet and funny – now she was just bitter and unfriendly towards him all the time. Well, almost all the time. He was still her brother, after all. 

Kieren began twitching – only slightly, just in his left arm, but enough for it to ache – as he reached the stairs. It wasn’t as if it was the first time it had happened, nor was it the most severe physical symptom he suffered thanks to being a Disable. He knew that the majority of their kind didn’t have it as badly as he did, but… How the hell could anyone think it could be a blessing? An actual positive, even _spiritual_ thing? 

There were many of these rebellious religious nuts at his school, Roarton High. Well, they weren’t exactly religious nuts; they were quite friendly, really. It was just their belief that they shouldn’t need to take their medication administered to them by the government’s medical program – the Re-Enabling Program, REP for short – that Kieren found disconcerting. 

As he was mulling over these issues in his own muddled mind, his father walked into the dining room. Steve nodded slightly and gave a small smile. 

‘Y’alright, Kier?’ he asked in his strong accent, trudging over to the counter to get himself something for breakfast. ‘You look a bit under the weather.’ Kieren sighed, a breathy little laughing noise that he’d never admit could be rather cute. 

‘Sure, dad, I’m fine,’ he reassured his father, prodding at his now-cold toast. ‘Just not hungry. Didn’t sleep much last night.’ Steve’s face held brief concern. 

‘Them nightmares again, son?’ came the predictable question, to which Kieren responded to only with a turn of the head and another quiet sigh. He’d been _taking_ the medication, he’d been _going_ to the doctors, he’d been _trying_ his _best_ to be normal. It just didn’t work for him.

A few minutes later, Kieren was dragging his limbs into his itchy school uniform. He’d found this was a much more difficult task than he’d expected after the Enablement: his skin had become hyper-sensitive to textures and materials, anything kinetic really, which made his uniform painfully itchy, and his muscle coordination wasn’t exactly great any more. The frustration of not being able to get his leg into his trousers still hadn’t worn off after four years of living with his condition. 

‘Have a nice day!’ his dad called from the living room as Kieren walked slowly out of the front door, scrabbling at the lock for about five more seconds than should have been necessary. _Right,_ Kieren thought to himself, shaking off another neck spasm. _Wish me luck with that, dad._


	2. Chapter 2

The Monroe household tended to be a quiet one, but this was even more pronounced at just gone four in the morning. Its youngest member - only out of two, now - was already up, pacing his room back and forth with the slight hobble of someone much older than himself. 

 

Simon had set himself a sort of morning routine: wake up at four,  _think_ for a while, pray, and leave for school at six. It was far too early, much earlier than any other student he'd ever seen roaming the halls at that time, but he didn't suppose any of the Roarton staff minded an enthusiastic pupil. 

 

Walking up and down the length of the attic slowly, he let his mind wander, opening to the strange sensations accessible to most Disables. Sometimes it was gradual, other times sudden; today, a quick and heady mix of smells and tastes flooded Simon's nose and mouth, thicker than syrup yet not tangible. Instead of shying away from the feeling, he closed his eyes, breathed in and out methodically, absorbing all of the sensations into his body before opening his lids again. 

 

Soon enough, he heard his father drag himself from the room below Simon's, coughing violently and stumbling into the kitchen, probably hungover. Simon grimaced, face twisting in disgust at his father's chemical dependence - he despised all sorts of drugs and such activities, and almost felt ashamed to be living with an alcoholic. 

 

But no, Simon Monroe didn't feel  _shame._ What everyone who'd ever met him (since the Enablement, at least) could tell about him was that he had a sense of  _pride,_ some type of subconscious knowledge of his purpose in the world. Not many people were lucky enough to have that advantage in life, and he was fully aware of this.  _  
_

 

His prayers were brief but heartfelt, knees bent before the paintings of Jesus and Mary he'd had since his second year of high school. He may have abandoned religion somewhat in the first part of his life - so unenlightened, so plain - but he was as pious as ever now. 

 

'You off already?' Simon's dad drawled in his thick accent, ugly with the tarnish of alcohol and secret smoking. 

 

'I leave at the same time every morning,' his son replied, voice remaining calm and controlled while he relished in the warmth of his contempt spreading inside him. 'I thought you would've noticed it by now.' Iain Monroe clearly didn't have a reply. 

 

A few minutes later and Simon was out the door, bare-faced and confident. There was no one around to see him, no one but the early-morning commuters and dog-walkers of Roarton's constantly quiet streets, but he still held his head up high and made no attempt to hide his uneven gait or the markings on his face. 

 

He spent his extra time before school reading in the sixth formers' common room, which doubled as a library and social gathering space. It had become less and less inhabited since the Enablement, which allowed Simon and his other more "rebellious" friends to meet in peace most days. 

 

After a while, the other students of Roarton High started ambling in through the gates, floating vaguely around the school like lost sheep. Simon spotted Amy - his best friend, Amy - outside the sixth form block and smiled to himself. Hopefully today would be another good day. 

 

.   .   .

 

First period for Simon that day was English, his favourite subject for many reasons. He'd like to tell himself that it was just because of his passion for literature and language, but he had to admit that it was because of Amy as well: they'd become friends through English class, and sitting next to her made the lessons even better. 

 

At that point, they were studying Gothic literature - it was a topic that Simon knew well, thanks to his excessive reading of "mopey" novels and writing depressing poetry as a teenager. He and Amy enthused together about the writings of such geniuses as Edgar Allan Poe at the back of the classroom; they were fortunate enough to be in one of the smaller classes, which Simon secretly suspected had been put together with the students with the highest grades in the subject. 

 

'I was thinking,' Amy piped up, breaking Simon's silent line of thought, 'about my career.' It could've sounded serious and boring, but when he looked up at her face, Simon knew his friend was being lighthearted as usual. He answered her grin with an open smile, and she continued: 'I want to be an English teacher. You know, I really love it, and I could totally get kids interested, I reckon.' 

 

Amy Dyer's eyes were the only part of her that had been visibly affected by the Enablement, and while they were unusual, they still expressed emotions perfectly. The whites had become grey-toned, murky and uneven, while the irises merged into this with a mixture of milky white and their original dark brown. The pupils had also changed shape slightly, no longer perfect circles; she'd confessed early in their friendship that she thought this was why she experienced frequent visual hallucinations. 

 

These odd eyes were lit up with genuine enthusiasm now, making sure Simon kept listening to what she was saying. Not that he'd ever ignore her. 

 

'I think I'd like to interact more with the lively young souls of the Roarton youth!' she exclaimed, forcing an unexpected laugh from her friend's lips.  _They're not the most lively kids,_ Simon thought, but didn't say anything.  _And they're pretty clear about their distaste for this school. Most of them, anyway. It's probably just this town._ _  
_

 

Simon did like Roarton, though. Occasionally he'd find himself wistfully thinking about home, about where he grew up, but then he'd remind himself that  _this_ was his home now, and he belonged here. Besides, the town seemed to have an interestingly high population of Disables; it was attractive to someone like him, who wished to rid the world of the inequality between them and the Ables. 

 

Unfortunately, his positive mood and light temper didn't last long, as around halfway through the lesson, Simon began to twitch. This happened every so often - probably around once a month, if that - but he wasn't entirely used to it yet, as embarrassing as that was. It began in his fingertips, a quick and involuntary drumming on the desk. Then his feet joined, dancing out a pattern that would probably present itself like nervousness on an Able: on him, it was clearly a sign of  _something_ going wrong. 

 

Quickly the tremors moved throughout his body, and others started to notice. Amy cursed loudly but escaped without reprimand from their teacher, who soon realised what was happening. The reactions in the class ranged from concern (from the Disables) and horror (from the Ables), to a tiny spattering of laughter (from idiots). 

 

Convulsions hurt, and fuck, Simon hated to appear weak. He tried desperately to reign in the uncontrollable spasms until, about a minute later, he decided to give up. _They can think what they want,_ he reminded himself, a mantra he liked to live by.  _I am not inferior._

 

He couldn't recall much of the following events, but he immediately recognised the nurse's office when he opened his eyes and saw the baby blue ceiling. The nurse, Mrs Juniper, was sitting on a stool at the foot of his bed; she looked wary, but not appalled like some people would be. 

 

'Are you awake?' she asked in a hushed tone, answered only by a nod. 'Good. If you're feeling up to it, I'd like you to sit up now.' Simon followed her orders after a few seconds, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes of stars - he was secretly glad that he didn't suffer many hallucinations at all. 

 

'How long have I been out?' he grumbled, gingerly rubbing his nose and stretching his shoulders back. He felt achy. 

 

'Not long, a few minutes. I think you've just been asleep, not properly blacked out,' Mrs Juniper reassured him, and he nodded briefly. Then she pursed her lips, brow wrinkling into a frown. 'May I ask, Mr Monroe, how often do you have those seizures?' 

 

'Not often,' Simon answered quickly, eager to get out of the medical room as soon as possible. 'Once a month, tops.' 

 

'Right,' the nurse drawled, scribbling something onto a notepad on the table beside her. 'Does your medicine not stop them, or are they remaining side effects?' She looked up at him expectantly, and it took him a few seconds to work out what she was talking about. 

 

'Oh, right, yeah,' Simon mumbled, almost sheepish. 'I'm, uh, not on REP. I don't take the drugs.' 

 

There was an awkward silence following that, in which Mrs Juniper was clearly trying to make up her mind about how to respond: did she tell him off? Did she ask why? Did she force him into visiting an REP centre? Luckily, she didn't do any of those things in the end. 

 

'Well, I can't say that's a very wise decision,' she began with a sigh, 'but I suppose it's  your choice. I can't force you into anything. But, Mr Monroe - ' she gave him a meaningful look - 'despite your apparently mild symptoms, you're still a Disable, and it still affects people. And the REP scheme does work. Think about it.' 

 

Simon nodded briskly, remaining polite but saying nothing. He knew he wouldn't be returning to one of those centres in a long time, and, if she had the brain power, so did the nurse. The Re-Enablement Program was not something Simon Monroe was interested in, and he truly believed that none of his fellow Disables should be, either. Why should they try to fix something that wasn't broken in the first place? 


End file.
